Hello Darkness, My Old Friend
by PaperKayak
Summary: After years away, a woman from Stan's past has returned to Gravity Falls. She knows all about the journals, and is determined to get her hands on them, no matter what it takes. Set before the Season 1 finale. Warning: character death.
1. Chapter 1

"Thank you, Gravity Falls! Y'all have been a wonderful audience!"

Gideon Gleeful waved to the cheering crowd that had stood from their positions on the folding chairs filling the tent to give the little psychic his usual standing ovation. He bowed and blew kisses as the lights went up, and only stopped after the thick blue curtains at the front end of the stage had tightly closed.

"Whew!" he muttered, pulling out his water bottle and taking a deep swig. He then snapped his fingers at the beefy, flannel-shirted man who was gathering his sheet music off of the little piano. "Father!" he barked. "I'll be in my dressing room. Make sure no one disturbs me, will you?"

"Will do, pumpkin," his father replied with a nod and a smile.

Gideon swept past him and through the door emblazoned with his name and star-shaped logo. He flicked on the vanity lights and immediately set to work, spraying back into place the stray white hairs that had managed to escape his perfectly-sculpted coif during his routine. Lifting his arms, he examined his outfit with a frown. "Darn stage lights," he grumbled, examining the stains on the armpits of the jacket. He pulled the coat off and tossed it aside, taking a new one off of a line of identical jackets hanging along the opposite wall. He hummed to himself as he pulled the new jacket on and straightened the rest of the outfit. And he was surprised when he turned around to the mirror, only to see in the reflection an old woman standing in the doorway.

Barely resisting the urge to storm out then and there and berate his father for neglecting to keep his privacy, Gideon plastered his signature innocent beam onto his face and turned. "Why, howdy, ma'am!" he exclaimed, feigning brightness. "What brings you 'round to see li'l ol' me?"

The woman smiled. She wore a dark blue dress with a matching hat pressed over the gray tendrils of hair that hung limply well past her shoulders, held a black clutch purse between two small hands encased by white gloves, and the smile on her wrinkled face was clouded by an abundance of thick make-up on her eyes and lips. "I hope I'm not in a place I ought not be," she said. "But I greatly enjoyed your show and could not resist the urge to get a chance to meet you in person. I'm not bothering you, am I?"

_Yes, you are,_ Gideon thought bitterly, but he said, "Why, of course you ain't, darlin'! Pleased to meet ya. Li'l Gideon's my name, but you already know that. And you are?"

"Just a fan," the woman replied. She glanced around his dressing room. "Quite the impressive wardrobe you've collected here."

"Well, thank you kindly, ma'am. I've always been a bit of a fashion connosieur, if I do say so myself. In fact, some of these pieces-"

"I am curious, however," the woman interrupted, continuing as if Gideon hadn't spoken at all, which left the latter fuming. She reached into her purse, then reached out and unfolded a piece of paper, and held it out for him to see. Gideon recognized it as a printout of his most recent online flyer. It prominently featured a picture of Gideon, practically glowing beneath the spotlight as he smiled and winked. The woman pointed to his neck in the picture. "One piece of your ensemble seems to be missing."

Gideon looked more closely to see what she was pointing at, then cringed. It was the sea-green charm that he had always worn proudly attached to his bolo tie. _Had _being the key word, since his darling Mabel had smashed the amulet after he had used it against her brother for purposes that were... less than peaceful. He glanced back up at the woman, his artificial grin back. "Lost, unfortunately," he said. "Been looking for it, o' course, but I figure it's gone for now. Although, I'm looking to replace it at the moment."

"That's surprising," the woman said smoothly. "It looks like it would be difficult to replace. Where did you ever manage to get it in the first place?"

"Oh, you know," Gideon said. He felt himself beginning to sweat again; something about this woman was making him feel oddly discomposed. "Flea market, I think it was. You can find all sorts o' neat antiques at places like that, if'n you look hard enough." He cleared his throat and turned away. "Now, ma'am, were you perhaps wanting an autograph? Maybe a photo?"

He stiffened as the woman's hand clamped down upon his shoulder and she spun him around to face her. "No, I don't need any of that," she said, still sounding bizarrely cheerful. "I need to know where you got that amulet."

Gideon spluttered, abashed. "What would- how did you know it was-?"

"Not important. You made the amulet, didn't you, Gideon? You learned how to, didn't you? And you're making another one now, aren't you?"

Gideon stopped spluttering and simply glared. Where the heck was his father, and why had he let this lady into his dressing room? "What all do you know about that there _amulet_, ma'am?" he asked.

"Well, to begin, I know that you are in possession of a very special book." Gideon tried his best to hide his surprise, but judging by the expanding smile on the woman's face, he realized his eyes must have betrayed him. "Where is the journal, Gideon?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Gideon spat.

The woman didn't so much as blink. "There's no need to make this difficult, dear. I know you have it. That journal is very important to me, and I'd like to have it back..

Furiously, Gideon shrugged her hand away. "Fine, you want the journal so bad? I'll get it." He moved to the back of the dressing room and made a show of rifling through the contents of the shelf on which he kept the journal as the woman looked on sternly. He flicked through the pages and then held it up so the woman could see the cover: a six-fingered gold hand with the number 2 in the middle. "This the book you wanted?"

The woman nodded calmly and held out her hand. "If you'll kindly hand me the book, we can both be on our way."

"O' course, o' course," Gideon said. "Just one quick moment." He let the book drop open in his hand, and began to resonantly read the words off of the page. _A manu mea hostem iugulum! Ego suscipio a'ris! Ego vitam exhaurire! Ego_-

The old woman, whose face had been going red, held out her hand, palm facing the child psychic, and gasped out, "_Repurcucio! Oculum pro oculo!_"

Immediately, Gideon's chant was cut off, and he gagged as his hand leapt to his throat. "What- what did you-" he rasped.

"You really ought to know at least a little bit about your opponent before you attack them, dear. For example, whether or not they are just as experienced in magic as you are, or more so." She tilted her head idly as Gideon's face began to take on an unsettling shade of maroon. "What you just witnessed," she continued stoicly, ignoring the ragged gurgling sounds the child was emitting, "was a reflection spell. Took years to master. The purpose is to counter an opponent's spell, with whichever spell they were conducting. Sadly, it appears you were trying to kill me. You really should have warned me, and I would have taken a different defensive measure. I really don't like killing." She paused and listened, then nodded when she was met with total silence. "Appears it's too late now, though, right, dear?"

The woman leaned down and peeled away the grubby fingers still clutched tightly to the journal, even as their owner stared out through unseeing eyes, his mouth open and still as stone. She smiled as she ran her fingers over the golden hand. Without so much as a second glance at the lifeless psychic on the floor, she tucked the book under her arm and stepped out of the dressing room, over the deeply-breathing body of the large man in a spectral sleep, and strolled out of the Tent of Telepathy.

* * *

A/N: That's right. I can kill canon characters. I have the authority to do that, you know. Anyway, as you can see, I've started another story! Yay! If you haven't yet, be sure to check out my other Gravity Falls stories, Into the Woods and, especially, Home Is Where the Haunt Is. As for this story, review, favorite, follow, and keep being awesome, because you're all awesome! (Except for that one reader of mine who is not at all awesome. You know who you are.)


	2. Chapter 2

"Ooh!" Mabel squealed, pointing to a text-filled square on the papers spread flat across the kitchen table. "Look, Dipper! A petting zoo!"

"Mabel, shh!" Dipper said, putting a finger to his lips. He glanced across the room into the den where his Great Uncle Stan lay scrunched up in his lumpy mustard-yellow armchair. His head was lolled back, his mouth wide open, with a line of drool reaching nearly to his chin and dripping down farther every time Stan let out a massive snore. A thin light from the muted television, displaying a helicopter view of a traffic accident, illuminated him in his sleep, and he probably would have been an image of peace if not for the snoring, which treated his niece and nephew to a symphony not unlike what one would achieve by repeatedly yanking the start cord of an old push lawnmower.

Mabel nodded. "Right," she whispered. "Don't wake the Grunkle. But lookie!" She pointed at the newspaper again. "Petting zoo, all day Wednesday. I'm loving the sound of this Midsummer Festival!"

Dipper grinned. "Okay, when Stan _does_ wake up, make sure you never let him hear you say that."

In town that prior afternoon, Dipper and Mabel had spotted the citizens of Gravity Falls decorating the main street and town square. Stan had tried his best to shoo the kids home, but not before Mabel asked what was going on here.

"Nothing," Stan had grunted, shoving them toward the car. "Now let's get-"

"Why Stan, didn't you know?" a voice had piped up from nearby, and Stan grimaced as he recognized the grating voice of self-proclaimed reporter Toby Determined. "All next week, the annual Midsummer Festival is in town!"

"Midsummer Festival?" Mabel had repeated. "What's that?"

"Only the biggest event in Gravity Falls!" Toby had replied excitedly. "A week of rides and games and food and shows. I'm surprised you forgot, about it, Stan."

Stan glared at him. "I didn't forget," he said. "It's just not worth my time. Can't get anything at the stupid Midsummer Festival that you couldn't find at the mystery fair."

Dipper turned to Toby. "Do the rides at Midsummer follow any sort of safety regulations?"

"Well, of course."

"Then it sounds like an improvement to me. Got any more info?"

The conversation commenced with Dipper and Mabel being loaded up with schedules and flyers, all courtesy of Toby, while Stan had stood to the side muttering inaudibly about "blood traitors" and how this was "worse than Pioneer Day." Now, Dipper and Mabel were perusing the promotional materials, armed with highlighters, ready to plan their week at the festival.

"So it's a definite for the petting zoo?" Mabel asked. "Maybe I could find a friend for Waddles! Like a lion, or a giraffe!"

"I'm pretty sure that's not how petting zoos work, Mabel," Dipper said.

Mabel rolled her eyes. "Oh, okay, but I'm sure I'll still find something. Ooh, how about this?" She held up a brochure. "Little Miss Gravity Falls Contest, Friday night! I could compete in that, and be a pageant princess! I could get a little sash and tiara and everything!"

" 'Open to permanent residents of Gravity Falls and outlying rural areas, ages four through eight'," Dipper read off the brochure's cover. "So, that's a no-go." He picked up another flyer. "Hey, this looks good! On monday evening, the museum is sponsoring a display of local and nearby archaeological findings: uncovered artifacts from the Tsetsaut, Gitksan, and Nuxalk tribes, as well as-"

Mabel let out an exaggerated yawn. "_Booo_-ring!" She said. "I am not going to spend my evening looking at a bunch of dusty old Indian doohickies. That sounds more like school than fun."

Dipper frowned at her. "Fine, what do you propose?"

"Hmm," Mabel said. She peered over the posters again. "I've got it!" she cried, snatching up one of them. Bold red font stood out against bright blue background, interlaced with clipart pictures of top hats and playing cards. "'Rose Thorn's Magical Extravaganza!'" she read. "'Tricks and illusions to delight the eyes and boggle the mind! An evening of fun for the whole family! First showing monday night and the Gravity Falls Community Center and Buffet.'"

Dipper winced. "I don't know, Mabel," he said. "Remember last time we went to see a show that had magic in it? You ended up with the world's creepiest stalker, and I nearly got my tongue cut out."

"Yeah, but that was _real_ magic," Mabel argued. "It says right here on this poster: tricks and illusions! That means it's _fake_."

"We thought Gideon was fake too," Dipper replied. His gaze wandered over to the den. It passed over his sleeping uncle and to the TV, and his eyes widened. "And speak of the devil-" he whispered.

Immediately he pushed his chair back and hurried into the den, Mabel on his heels asking, "What is it? What devil?" He stared for a moment at the television screen. A woman wearing a navy-blue blazer and holding a microphone was standing in front of a very familiar blue tent. "Oh," Mabel said. "_That_ devil."

Dipper leapt toward the set and cranked the volume dial. "Huh, whazza-" Stan mumbled, rousing from his sleep, but Mabel silenced him with a sharp, "Shh!" The reporter's solemn voice rang throughout the den.

"-are currently uncertain as to the cause of death. Police at the scene report no sign of external, physical force on the body, although there was evidence in the dressing room of a struggle. That, along with the alleged assault and battery of the late Gideon Gleeful's father, indicate foul play."

Stan's jaw dropped. "Did she say-"

"The _late _Gideon Gleeful?" Dipper gasped.

"The body has been formally extracted, and a forensics team dispatched to the scene of death. In the meantime, the most we can do is wait for the lab results. More on this story as it develops."

"Thank you, Seandra." The camera cut to a smiling man in a tie sitting behind a mahogany desk. "Well, it's been a gloomy day today in the world of stock trade, where-"

Stan cut the man off with flick of the mute button on his remote. The three of them sat in silence for a moment, each unwilling to be the first to speak. Finally, Mabel cleared her throat. "So... Gideon's dead?"

Dipper nodded dumbly and brought his knees up to his chest. "Yeah, looks like it," he said softly. He gulped. "You know, I know you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but..."

"But the little punk had it coming to him," Stan finished with a grunt.

Mabel whipped her head toward him with a gasp. "Grunkle Stan! How could you say that?"

"Look, I'm not saying I approve of murder or anything like that. I ain't heartless. I just figure, if anyone in this town had to go and die a mysterious death... well, I couldn't think of a better candidate."

Dipper tapped his fingers thoughtfully against his knee. "Mysterious..." he repeated slowly.

With a groan, Stan turned to scowl at his nephew. "Oh, no," he said. "I know that look. Listen, I know you're all about solving those little mysteries of yours, but you stay away from that yellow tape. You can have fun with your pixies and goblins, but a death site is not your scene. Are you listening to me, kid?"

"I'm listening."

"I'm serious, Dip. You try and play detective, you're just going to end up on the wrong side of the cops. So no snooping."

Dipper waved a hand lazily at his uncle. "I won't, Grunkle Stan. Promise."

"Good." Stan stretched, and several of his vertebrae popped loudly. "Ugh, that armchair is not good for the spine," he muttered. "I'm heading up to bed. You two coming?"

The kids nodded and followed Stan up the stairs. Their nighttime ablutions flicked by in silence, and Dipper and Mabel settled into their respective beds, the lights turned off. After a few minutes Mabel rolled over and said softly, "Stan said no snooping."

Dipper rolled over as well, to face her. "Yeah, I know."

"We gonna go snooping anyway?"

Her brother gave her a small smile. "Oh, yeah," he replied. "Definitely."

* * *

A/N: My family got a new puppy, and I can't snuggle with it because I'm in a different state. You can help cheer me up by reviewing, favoriting, and following. Do it for the puppy, guys.


	3. Chapter 3

"Watch your step!" Mabel said, yanking Dipper back onto the sidewalk. Her brother had, once again, stepped off the curb, so engrossed was he in the journal covering his face.

"Hm?" Dipper said, looking up. He hadn't even noticed.

Mabel rolled her eyes. "Do you have to read that thing now? I mean, couldn't you at least wait until we're standing still or something?"

"Sorry," Dipper replied. "Just brushing up. I figure, if Gideon's death was due to anything, you know, supernatural, I'd like to be able to diagnose it as soon as possible."

His sister snorted. " 'Diagnose'? Sorry, I wasn't aware that you were Gideon's doctor." She threw an arm out to stop Dipper from walking into a crosswalk ending with an orange "Don't Walk" sign. "Besides," she continued as the sign changed to "Walk", "you don't even know for sure it was a magic-y death. We know that he died, but we don't know if he was killed by a curse, or stabbed, or just had a heart attack or whatever."

"I somehow doubt that a nine-year-old had a heart attack," Dipper answered. "And anyway, the news report said that the cause of death hadn't been ascertained, and they didn't know for sure if it wasn't natural. If he had been stabbed, there wouldn't have been any doubt."

"So you automatically figure it's gotta be something magic?"

Dipper shrugged. "This is Gravity Falls. _Everything _is something magic."

"Well, anyway, reading time's over," Mabel said. "The Tent of Telepathy is just around the-"

The twins turned the corner, and they both froze in their tracks. The entire street was packed with a barrage of cars, very few of which belonged to police. Yellow tape bordered the tent, but security guards were still having to take up posts to prevent the crowd of people from crossing. A select few members of the crowd seemed to be crying, some were yelling at the security guards, and nearly all of them were wearing light-blue Li'l Gideon T-shirts, or Li'l Gideon hats, or waving around Li'l Gideon flags.

"Right," Dipper muttered. "Nearly forgot Gideon had fans."

Mabel shuddered. "Ugh, it's so creepy," she muttered.

"What, the fan club? Says the girl who got kicked out of the Dream Boy High fan convention. Twice."

Mabel didn't so much as flinch. "If they didn't want enthusiasm, they shouldn't have had a fan convention. Anyway, there goes your plan to start looking for clues, huh?"

"Not necessarily," Dipper said slowly. He waved to Mabel to follow him. Together, they shoved their way through the crowd, and all the Gideon-plastered merchandise, until they had reached the front. Dipper put it his hands on the police tape and cleared his throat loudly at a security guard standing at the tent's entrance. "Excuse me!" he called out.

"Yeah?" the guard called back, not even bothering to move.

"I know this may not be entirely orthodox, but my sister and I, see, we were really close friends of Li'l Gideon, when he was alive, I mean, and we'd really appreciate it if-"

"You're not getting into the tent, kid," the guard cut him off, unfazed.

"Oh, come on!" Mabel piped up. "It's Mabel! You know, Gideon's girlfriend? I was in at least one magazine with him. Don't you recognize me?" She gave him an enormous, braces-filled smile.

The guard rolled his eyes. "Nice try. Look, if I were to believe this mob, every single person here was Gideon's closest friend, or his cousin, or whatever. In fact, I believe five different ladies behind you have come forth as the kid's grandmother."

"It's true!" an old woman shouted from several rows back.

"Aw, shut it, you're not fooling anyone! So, anyway, know. If you came to get a peek at the body or whatever, you're gonna be disappointed. If you want to stand at a distance and stare at the tent for hours on end like this lot, be my guest."

Dipper grumbled something and turned away. Mabel followed as he made his way back out of the crowd. "I think that went well," she said cheerfully.

Her brother raised an eyebrow at her. "Exactly how did that go well?"

"Well, we found out that it's definitely a crime scene, so we know for sure that it wasn't a natural death."

"I guess that's true."

"And we also discovered that Gideon has at least five grandmas."

Dipper slapped his forehead. "Right. I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

The two of them turned the corner back onto the main road, and began heading toward home. "So, what now, Dipping Sauce?"

"Well, we'll keep an eye on the news. Anything interesting comes out, we'll want to be on top of it right away. Still, the cops aren't going to be looking out for paranormal stuff. So, once the crowds clear and the police stuff winds down-"

"That's when we take over?" Mabel finished for him.

Dipper nodded. "Exactly."

* * *

Downtown, the gears had been turning in the setting up for the Midsummer Festival. Workers bustled about along town square and its surrounding streets, trying to keep track of which booth went wear and needed which materials. Several rides had been brought in on a parade of flatbed trucks, and sat half-assembled in the afternoon sun.

At the Community Center and Buffet, people milled about, setting up tables and centerpieces, with programs at each seat. Garlands of roses adorned the tops of the walls, their finishing touches being added by the workers on enormous steel ladders.

On the stage, a woman stood, nearly still as a statue. Dark brown curls draped her sharp face and fell halfway down the back of her slim figure. A bright white spotlight moved slowly across the stage and positioned itself so that she was in the exact center. "Got it!" a different woman called from her place on the balcony. She was dressed in simple blue jeans and a gray T-shirt, and had her honey-blonde hair in a pony tail. She shot thumbs up toward the stage her other hand still on the spotlight she had just finished adjusting. "That should be all the light cues for opening night, right, Miss Thorn?"

Rose Thorn looked around her, then shook her head. "I don't like it. Are you sure this was how we blocked it, Joanne?"

Joanne sighed. "No, it's not. But you said-"

"Well, I changed my mind. It's too blinding, and the spotlight will wash out the costume. Tell you what: how about we do two spotlights, one tinted red, the other blue, neither too bright, have them both on me at once? And maybe the footlights, too, not too much but enough for a nice effect."

"You mean, exactly what I suggested yesterday?" Joanne replied.

"Did you?" Rose asked, sounding thoroughly disinterested. "Hm, you probably should have spoken up, then. Either way, set it up." She snapped her fingers.

"Uh, Miss Thorn?" another voice, male this time, called from the wing of the stage.

Rose let out a dramatic sigh. "Yes, Kenneth?" she asked, clearly irritated.

"It's noon. You said that would be our lunch break."

Rose groaned. "I really just need to stop saying things, don't I? Fine, whatever, take your lunch break." She turned back to the rest of the hall. "Everyone, go ahead, you've got thirty minutes, no more."

The spotlight clicked off as the house lights slowly faded back on. Joanne rushed to the balcony staircase, as the workers in the main hall set down their tools and filed out. Rose stepped down off of the stage, then flinched as she heard a loud rustling behind her. She turned to see one end of the enormous, rose-emblazoned banner that had been draped along the top of the stage had dropped to the floor.

"And would someone please hang that back up?" she snapped. Silence met her, and Rose looked about to see that everyone had already left for lunch. "Oh, never mind," she grumbled, "I'll do it myself."

She lifted a delicate hand and pointed to the fallen end of the banner. At the flick of her finger, the banner shot up of the ground and snapped back into place, as easily as if she had picked up a tissue. With one last satisfied nod, Rose made her exit.

* * *

A/N: To my American readers, hope you had a great Thanksgiving! To my non-American readers... um, hello, I guess. Yeah, yeah, haven't updated in a while. Been working on my semester projects for classes. But, I'm done or nearly done with all of them now, so here, this year, you can be thankful for another chapter! Favorite, follow, and review!


	4. Chapter 4

Dipper looked up from his program as his sister slid into the seat to his right. "Hey," she said cheerfully. "We're not too late, are we?"

"Nah, show doesn't start for a few minutes yet," Dipper replied. He waved at Wendy, who was draping her jacket over the seat next to Mabel's. She nodded in response. "How was the petting zoo?" Dipper asked.

Wendy smirked. "You mean before or after we got kicked out?"

Soos, who sat in the chair on Dipper's right, let out a snort of laughter. "Dude, you didn't!" he said. "What happened?"

Mabel crossed her arms with a huff. "It wasn't our fault!" she pouted. "One of the alpacas was being a bully to Waddles, and he had to stand up for himself, right? And that petting zoo director guy was a meanie in the first place. Anywho, that's why it took so long to get here. Had to take Waddles back home."

Her brother smiled. "Well, try not to get kicked out of this show, okay? Stan's already in a mood on account of this whole festival, and I'd hate to be stuck at the Shack all week with that."

"Speaking of Stan," Wendy said, turning to face Soos, "You'll never guess what he's been having me do to the gift shop."

"Lay it on me, dude," Soos said enthusiastically.

As the two of them took up their own line of conversation, Mabel leaned in to Dipper. "All right, so, did you manage to find out anything new today?"

Dipper sighed. "Nada. Seeing as the tent was closed, I tried Gideon's house. See if his dad knew anything. He wouldn't open the door. And I asked Blubs and Durland if they needed help investigating, but I think they're still bitter about the wax sculptures incident."

"Or they don't want to employ a twelve-year-old into the police force."

"Or that." Dipper rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I don't know what else to do. I mean, if I'm not even allowed into the crime scene, how am I supposed to get any new information?"

"Well-" Mabel began, but she stopped short when the lights in the room began to dim. The murmur of the crowd packed into the tables became more subdued as the audience all turned to the stage.

A man walked out in front of the curtains, wearing black dress pants and a black polo shirt, his blond hair in a crew cut. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, practically shouting in order to be heard without a microphone. "Rose Thorn's Magical Extravaganza will begin momentarily. Please take the time now to silence all cell phones, pagers, and other mobile devices. All that data flying around really messes with the magic in the air!" Very few people chuckled at that, but half the crowd leaned down to turn off their phones.

"Why do they even mention pagers anymore?" Wendy whispered as her phone's screen turned to black. "It's like no one bothered to update that spiel since _Seinfeld_ was still on air."

"Shh!" Mabel responded, as the house lights faded all the way and the audience was left in darkness. "It's starting!"

Right as she said it, two spotlights suddenly flashed up onto the thick red curtains of the stage. They seemed to chase each other in laps around the curtain as a drumroll sounded, before joining together in the center. The drum crashed, and the curtains split to reveal Rose Thorn, standing in profile with one hand on her hip, the other at the brim of her top hat, and one knee angled enticingly. Besides the top hat, she wore a low-cut white button-up shirt with a sequined red bow tie, a shimmering black cape that reached her waist, fingerless black gloves, a short black skirt, black fishnet-style stockings, and precarious-looking ruby-red heels.

"That's Rose Thorn?" Dipper muttered. "She looks like she belongs in a Bob Fosse musical, not a magic show."

Wendy held a finger to her lips and then gestured back to the stage. A jazzy score had begun to play, and Rose seemed to be starting her opening trick. She pulled a red handkerchief out of the pocket of her skirt, waved it about so the audience could get a good look at it, then shook it over her hand. A deck of cards plopped onto her waiting palm, and the crowd clapped politely. The magician then began shuffling the cards, but it was much more elaborate than any shuffling Dipper hand ever seen. The cards were shot from one hand to the other, toss and caught as if she were juggling them, twirled on her finger tips, and yet all came neatly back together. Rose fanned them out in her upturned hand, then dropped them to the floor, revealing a white dove hiding behind them.

The jazz in the background sped up. Rose removed her hat and pulled from it a foot-tall mirror. Rose held it up next to the dove. The bird gazed at it for a moment, before Rose quickly snatched it away. The bird's reflection, however, stayed, since apparently another dove had materialized from within the mirror itself. More applause. She set the hat down onto the stage and snapped her fingers. The birds dove into the hat, and reemerged each carrying the end of a long bolt of fabric. The flew up toward the ceiling and unraveled the fabric, revealing that it was actually a banner, which read: "Rose Thorn's Magical Extravaganza!" The music ended with a cymbal crash.

The audience broke into applause. The magician onstage acknowledged it with raised arms, then dipped into a low bow. "Thank you!" she said as she straightened up. "But you've seen nothing yet! I don't waste all my best magic on the opener, so you shouldn't waste all your best clapping either!" That earned her a few light laughs. "Hey, now, I'm not much of a comedian, sure. But I'm not here to make you laugh: I'm here to astound you!"

As she spoke, two people began wheeling an enormous wooden box onto the stage. One of those wheeling was the man who had made the pre-show announcement. The other was a slender woman, also blonde, with her hair in a ponytail and wearing an outfit identical to her partner's. Rose gestured toward them. "I've got a couple people here to help me out tonight. Everyone, give a warm welcome to the lovely Joanne!"

The crowd clapped as the ponytailed woman waved. "And my other assistant," Rose continued, "The not-quite-as-lovely-but still-makes-a-good-cup-of-coffee Kenneth!" The crowd laughed at that, and applauded him as well.

"Now," she continued, as Kenneth and Joanne finished positioning the box and stepped to the side, "judging by some of the faces I see out there, you've probably guessed by now what trick I'm about to perform. What can I say? It's a crowd pleaser. But first, I need a volunteer." Hands instantly shot up from every table. "Did I say volunteer? I meant victim. I don't like picking based on whose hand is up. I'm not a schoolteacher. Instead," with her foot, she flipped the top hat that still rested on stage into her hand, "I'm gonna let Hatty here decide!" She reached into the hat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Would whoever is sitting at table five, seat B, come up to the stage?"

Everyone turned the the number label on their tables' centerpiece. "Darn," Mabel muttered, as she saw that they were at table number fourteen. On the other side of the hall, a college-aged girl with a brown bob cut stood up and made her way onto the stage.

"What's your name, hon?" Rose asked as the girl climbed up to join her.

"Gabby Wilson," the latter replied.

Rose smiled. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Gabby. It's too bad, of course, that this is the last anyone will ever see of you. Are you ready to disappear?"

"As I'll ever be." Gabby replied. Rose pulled open the door to the box, and Gabby stepped inside, the door shutting behind her. Kenneth and Joanne each took hold of the box and begin spinning it, as Rose called out, "Even as we speak, Gabby here has found herself trapped in a vortex to another dimension. She is ceasing to exist on Earth's material plane. By the time I open that door again, she will be," she held up a hand to signal Kenneth and Joanne to stop, then opened the door, "Gone!" Indeed, the box was empty.

The crowd clapped loudly. Rose took another bow, and her assistants dragged the box off the stage. "Don't worry, folks! I'll bring her back to this world later! You know, if I remember!"

Dipper and Mabel smiled and settled deeper into their chairs as they continued to watch the show. Rose and her assistants flew through trick after trick, beneath an impressive lights display and a fusion of background music. She conjured animals, vanished them, levitated audience "volunteers", pulled card tricks and coin tricks, and somehow made fireworks spring from her fingertips.

"We're nearly done for the night, guys!" she announced at one point, and she smiled broadly when the statement was met with sighs and 'aww's from the audience. "Hey now, that doesn't mean I haven't got a few more tricks up my sleeve! And for this next one, I'll need another volunteer!" She whipped off her hat and pulled out a paper. "Table fourteen, seat E, it's your lucky day!"

Mabel glanced down at her placecard, which was labeled with a big 'F'. "Dipper!" she cried, poking her brother in the arm. "That's you!"

"What?" Dipper said. He looked at his own placecard. E. Soos patted him on the back and whispered, "You got this, dude!" Wendy shot him a thumbs-up.

Tentatively, Dipper stood up and walked up to the stage. Rose extended a gloved hand to him to help him clamber up, her unnaturally white teeth smiling widely all the while. "And what's your name, sweetheart?" she asked.

"Dipper Pines."

Rose froze. The hand holding Dipper's tightened, and the corners of her mouth fell. It only lasted a second though, since before Dipper could comprehend it, her smile broke out again and she said, "Well, Dipper, you're going to play a very important part in my next trick. I imagine you're a good student, right?"

"Straight A's," Dipper replied proudly. Even from on the stage, he could hear Mabel snicker.

"That's good," Rose said. "Because tonight, we're going to give this crowd here a little history lesson. Sound good?"

Dipper nodded, and Rose turned to address the audience. "You're all familiar with the French Revolution, right? 'Let them eat cake' and all that? Well, in 1789, one Joseph-Ignace Guillotin came up with a little invention that some of the French rebellers had a great deal of fun with during those years."

The moment he heard the name, a feeling of dread came over Dipper. Sure enough, he looked to his side, where Kenneth and Joanne were pulling an enormous guillotine onto the stage. "That's right, everyone!" Rose said gleefully. "This little guy right here played a big role in some fantastic French executions, such as those of Nicolas Jacques Pelletier, Collenot d'Angremont, Arnaud de Laporte, and, most famously, Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI. But, as I said before, I'm not a schoolteacher, so I'm not going to give you a lecture. Instead, my volunteer and I will give you a demonstration!"

"I- uh-" Dipper stammered, backing away. "I- I don't-"

Rose grabbed him and began steering him toward the guillotine. "Don't worry, Dipper," she said. "I hardly ever mess this trick up." It was clearly meant as a joke, since the audience laughed, but it just made Dipper feel like he was going to vomit.

He climbed the little steps of the guillotine numbly, and he got a glance at the silver blade reflecting the stagelights before Kenneth gently pushed him down and secured his head and hands into place.

"Dipper here will be playing the illustrious role of Louis XVI," Rose declared. "Hopefully, he'll turn out a lot better than the original."

Dipper tugged his hands and neck, trying desperately to get out of contraption, but it held fast. He could feel his legs shaking like a baby horse's as Rose came up to him and grabbed hold of the blade. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath.

Something whisked by. Silence. Dipper was sure for a moment that the deed was done, and he was dead. But then, muffled by the roaring in his ears, he heard Rose shout, "Long live the king!" Applause.

He opened his eyes. He flexed his fingers and turned his head, making sure everything was still intact. He was fine. It seemed the blade had passed him by. Rose lifted up the bar that had kept him in place, and Dipper quickly stepped out of the guillotine. "Take a bow," she said softly to him, then, more loudly to the audience, "One more round of applause for King Louis, everyone!"

How Dipper managed to walk back to his table without collapsing, he had no idea. As he climbed back onto his chair, Mabel gave his shoulder a playful punch. "You're such a goofus!" she squealed. "You looked like you were going to pee your pants up there!"

"Aw, shut up," Dipper said. Still, he smiled in relief as he turned back to the stage. Without the enormous blade looming right above his neck, the contraption didn't look nearly as intimidating. He supposed it was mostly just a huge change of pace for him: for once, the danger hadn't been real at all.

* * *

A/N: This chapter's significantly longer than the others for this story, isn't it? I guess because I'd really been looking forward to writing this chapter, and I let it run a bit wild.

Today I bought some Christmas Oreos. For every review I get, I shall eat one Oreo. Help me finish the whole box!


	5. Chapter 5

"We're home, Grunkle Stan!" Mabel yelled, unnecessarily since their great uncle was sitting in his armchair in full view of the front door when Dipper and Mabel returned.

"Meh," Stan grunted in greeting. As was is usual evening routine, he was staring at the television set.

Mabel happily perched herself on his armrest. "Don't you want to hear about our day at the festival?" she asked.

"Not particularly," Stan answered.

Dipper chuckled. "Yeah, he's much more interested in whatever love affair that little black and white Duchess of his in involved in tonight. Isn't that right, Grunkle Stan?" He prodded his uncle playfully.

"Don't poke me," Stan grumbled. "And for your information, Dipwit, _The Duchess Approves_ isn't even on tonight."

"Good!" Mabel said. She sat up straight and began swinging back and forth her legs that dangled off the armrest. "Then you'll have nothing to distract you from me telling you all about my day. First off, this morning, after Dipper went off with Soos to look at some rocks or whatever, Wendy and I went to this stand where you get to make your own rock candy. And then I saw one of those balloon-popper games, and it had stuffed elephants for prizes, and so naturally-"

"I have a feeling this is going to take a while," Dipper said softly to Stan. "I'm gonna go make a snack."

"Great, leave me alone with the chatterbox, why don't you?" Stan whispered back.

Dipper just smiled and darted into the kitchen. Mabel's voice narrating every minute detail of her day provided background noise as Dipper slowly fixed himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and poured a glass of milk. Taking care not to spill any of the milk, he edged his way back into the den, just as Mabel was in the process describing the magic show to Stan. "Then she pulls the sheet away," Mabel was saying, "And boom, the stuffed sheep had transformed into a live one! But the next trick was my favorite, because guess who was the audience participation person was?"

"Soos?" Stan guessed dully.

"Nope! It was Dipper! The magician had him go into one of those old-timey head-chopper-off thingies. He was so scared, I thought he was going to be sick all over the stage!"

"I was not!" Dipper cried defensively. "I knew it was just a silly magic trick, of course! I just... I had a little stage fright, that's all!"

Mabel burst into giggles. "Aw, don't lie to Grunkle Stan, Dipper!" she said, before turning back to her uncle. "Seriously, his face was like this the whole time." She widened her eyes and pulled her lips back into a comically exaggerated image of a frightened face.

"Not true!" Dipper snapped.

Mabel pulled the twins' shared phone out of her pocket and waved it in the air. "True! And I have photographic evidence to prove it!"

Dipper felt himself blush. "Mabel, delete those pictures," he said.

"Not until I show Grunkle Stan how scared you were!" Mabel replied happily. Dipper lunged at the phone, but Mabel held him back with one hand as she showed Stan the pictures with the other. "See," she said, clicking through them. "There's Dipper going up onto the stage. And there he is when they pulled out the choppy-thingy. Ha! Look at his face! And here he is getting put in the choppy thing. And here's the magician lady pulling down the shiny choppy part of the choppy thing. And here's-"

"Wait-" Stan cut her off suddenly. "Go back."

Mabel looked up, an eyebrow raised. Stan had very suddenly taken a much greater interest in the photographs. His eyes were wide as he stared intently at the phone. "Um, you mean this one?" she asked. She displayed the picture of Rose pulling down the blade.

"Yes, yes," Stan answered. He snatched the phone from her to look more closely. After gazing at it a few moments, he asked, "Do you have any clearer pictures of this magician lady?"

"Sure," Mabel said, "Let me look." She took the phone back.

Dipper looked at his uncle curiously. "Dang, Grunkle Stan," he said. "Sure, she was decent-looking, but do you really-?"

"Shut up, kid!" Stan growled. He turned back to Mabel. "Found any yet?"

"Yeah," Mabel said. "Here's a pretty good close-up." She gave him back the phone.

Stan stared at the picture, then, with shaking fingers, closed the phone and gave it back to Mabel. "You still got that flyer of yours?" Mabel nodded and hurried to the kitchen to grab it. She came back with it moments later and gave it to Stan, who quickly looked it over. "She's got two more showings this week," he muttered, much more to himself than to his niece and nephew.

"Ooh!" Mabel squealed. "Do you want to go see her show? Because I'd love to see it again! How about for the Wednesday show we-"

"No," Stan snapped.

Mabel stood still and stared at him. "But, Grunkle Stan-" she started, but Stan interrupted her again.

"I said no," he told her sharply. "No more magic shows. That goes for both of you."

Mabel's lower lip trembled. "Why not?" she asked.

"Because- because those things are a load of hokum anyway. And I don't need you two patronizing that sort of thing."

Dipper rolled his eyes. "Sorry, pot, I didn't catch that. What were you saying about kettle?"

Stan glared at him. "Just," he said with a sigh, "Just don't go to any more of this Rose Thorn's woman's shows, okay?" He got up out of his armchair, the flyer still clutched tightly in his hand. "I'm going to bed," he said, and he started up the stairs.

"But Grunkle Stan!" Mabel called after him. "Don't you want to hear how the show ended?" She was answered by the sound of a door slamming shut on the floor above. She turned to Dipper. "What was that about?" she asked him.

Dipper could only shake his head dumbly, just as confused as she was.

* * *

"Pines!" Rose cried as she entered the dressing room, tossing her hat aside and peeling off her gloves. "You heard that, didn't you, Joanne? The kid said his name was Dipper _Pines_!"

"Don't get too excited," Joanne replied. She walked over to pick up the accessories that Rose was carelessly tossing aside. "It could have just been nothing more than a coincidence."

Rose, however, shook her head adamantly. "No, no way," she said. She turned to call back out of the dressing room, "Kenneth! Go find me a phone book for this town, would you?" She stepped back into the room. "And you saw the kid, didn't you? The hair and the face shape and all. That's genetics, Joanne! Must have been his grandkid or something like that!"

"Rose, you don't know that for sure," Joanne replied.

"Are you kidding?" Rose said. She had moved across the dressing room and was rummaging through her trunk of props. "How common a surname do you think 'Pines' is? And don't you think it at all odd that a kid with his last name and his features just happens to be in the same little backwater nowhere town as the kid who just happened to own this?" As she said it, she pulled from this trunk a large, crimson book, with a six-fingered hand and the number two on the front cover. "That's not coincidence, Joanne. That's destiny!"

A knock came at the dressing room door, and Kenneth poked his head into the room. "Got a phonebook," he said, holding it up.

"Give it here, give it here!" Rose cried, hurrying to snatch it from him and then flipping rapidly through the thin yellow papers. Kenneth glanced at his sister and gestured with his head toward Rose with an eyebrow raised, as if silently asking, What's with her?

"She thinks she's had some sort of epiphany, I think," Joanne whispered to him.

"Yes!" Rose shouted suddenly, triumphantly. She slammed the book down in front of her assistants and jabbed her index finger excitedly at one of the listed names. "Look at that! Look!" Kenneth and Joanne leaned closer to read the name, but they needn't have bothered, because Joanne announced it anyway. "Stanford Pines!" she exclaimed. "He's here! He's in Gravity Falls!"

* * *

A/N: Everyone else here on campus is freaking out about finals, and I'm just here, writing fan fiction, because I only have a final in one class; all the others had semester projects, which I finished and turned in last week.

Oh, and if you get author alerts from me, you may have noticed that I've also started up a Total Drama fanfic. Don't worry, I'll still be updating this fic as regularly as always. I've just got my work cut out for me a little now, juggling two fics at once. Anyway, favorite, follow, review, don't do drugs, and stay in school!


	6. Chapter 6

When Stan came down the stairs the next morning, it was to find his niece and nephew setting on the floor of the den, a Scrabble board and its pieces spread out before them, with the exception of the wooden tile that Waddles sat idly chewing. Dipper had a look of intense concentration on his face; Mabel, not so much.

Mabel grinned broadly as she set five tiles onto the board. "There!" she said. "And on a triple-word space, that's..." She scrunched her face up in concentration as she did the math in her head. "Fifty-one points!"

Her brother sighed. "Mabel, for the last time, 'ZERBIT' is not a word, it has never been a word, and I'm not giving you points for it."

"You know what your problem is?" Mabel replied. "You don't know how to be creative." She looked over to where her great uncle stood at the bottom of the stairs. "Dressed already, Grunkle Stan?"

"What's the occassion?" Dipper added drily. He began sweeping Mabel's ZERBIT pieces off the board.

"Just got errands to run," Stan grunted. "You two stay out of trouble, all right? And Mabel, your pig's eating a 'J'." He stepped out the door, as behind him he heard Mabel scold Waddles and begin trying to tug the tile out of her pet's mouth.

Stan got into the car and began the drive toward town, slowing as he eventually approached town square. Cursing the intensely crowded midsummer-festival roads, he parked much farther from his destination than he would have liked, nearly ending the festivities for several pedestrians along the way, and had to walk several blocks before he got to the Community Center and Buffet. Fortunately, there seemed to be no show in progress at the time, so besides the few overeager citizens already camping out for whatever show would be starting in an hour or two, the place was refreshingly vacant.

He made his way behind the building to see several trailers parked in a neat grid. Most were fairly plain, but a select few were elaborately decorated to display whatever act they transported:_ The Nicholson Family Bluegrass Band, Vince the Voice: Master Ventriloquist_, and, of course, _Rose Thorn's Magical Extravaganza._

That last made his search much easier.

Stan stepped up to the door of the trailer and rapped on it several times with his fist, loudly and authoritatively. There was a moment or two of silence, then he heard some rustling behind the door and it was flung open to reveal the woman who had been in Mabel phone pictures the night before, albeit dressed much more conservatively in jeans and a bright red shirt. Initially, the woman looked annoyed at having been interrupted at whatever it was she had been doing in the trailer, but when she got a good look at her visitor, her face broke into an enormous smile.

"Stanford!" she declared. "Well, aren't you the last person I expected to see! Do you live nearby, hm?" She grabbed Stan's hand and began tugging him into the trailer. "Come in, come in!" she cried. "It's been too long, Stanford, too, too long!"

Rose pulled Stan rather forcefully toward the cushy purple chair at the end of the trailer. "Really, I'm not prepared for visitors at the moment," she said, flustered. "But I'll be a good hostess. I've got a bit of booze in the mini-fridge there, if you want some." She flopped down onto the folding lawn chair that faced Stan, the only other chair in the trailer, and crossed her legs casually. "Well, I'm thrilled to see you, of course. How've you been? It really has been too long, hasn't it?"

"Rosalind," Stan cut her off. "Shut up. For half a second, shut up."

Rose's smiled faltered for a moment, but it quickly came back full strength as she let out a tittering laugh. "Oh, didn't you know? Changed the name. The stage managers back in New York said 'Rosalind Thorsten' wouldn't put butts in the seats, although 'butts' wasn't the word they used. I guess they were right, of course, seeing that 'Rose's' act has been doing awful well. Although-"

"Rosalind," Stan said again. "Why are you here?"

He asked it calmly, and managed to keep his face more or less stoic, although Rose could tell it took him some effort. If looks could kill, she'd be moderately injured. But by her expression, one would think Stan had sung the question while handing her a dozen roses. "Why, for the show, of course, Stan!" she laughed, and she stood up and opened the door to the refrigerator. "A performer has to tour, right? And such a coincidence that I end up in the same town you ended up taking root in!" She pulled out a bottle of some sort of cheap, red wine and, rather than offer to pour a glass, simply sat back down and began drinking straight from the bottle. "And then to discover you've even become a family man! I met your grandkids last night, you know. Cute kids."

"Not Grandkids," Stan muttered. "Niece and nephew. And speaking of them, where do you come off trying to decapitate my nephew?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "It's called a magic trick, Stanford. Trick. As in, illusion. Not real."

Stan glowered. "I don't seem to recall you being real big on 'not real' magic."

"And I don't seem to recall you being quite so bitter," Rose shot back. She said it playfully, but her eyes had taken out a cold, calculating look. "Nor so gray. You haven't aged well, Stanford."

"You haven't aged at all."

This remark was met with another grin. "Haven't I?" Rose said lightly. She stood up, pushing back her chair. With a deep breath, she shut her eyes tight and slowly began running a hand from the top of her head all the way down across the rest of her body. As she did, Rose seemed almost to melt away, and in her place stood a wrinkled, wizened woman with limp gray hair and beady eyes.

"Nice, isn't it?" she asked. Her voice was lower and scratchier. "Damned difficult to get the hang of, but certainly worth the results. Besides, isn't that other Rosalind the one you loved so much?" She ran her hand up her body, putting the disguise back in place. "The one you once said 'took your breath away'?"

Stan groaned. "Sure. But that was before you went batcrap nuts."

Rose stuck out her lip in a pout as she sat back down. "You know, I think you probably got that impression from movies." Another swig from the bottle of wine. "Suddenly I'm some sort of villain, all on account of a little ambition."

"_A little ambition?!_"

"A lot of ambition. Don't be dramatic about it though, Stanford. Not like I killed anyone."

"Yeah, but that wasn't for lack of trying," Stan growled.

Rose cocked a smile over the rim of the wine. "What's wrong, Stanford?" she cooed. "Afraid I'm going to go all deranged, hm? Scared I'll go on a magical rampage in your happy little hamlet, blasting away every man, woman, and child I see? Almost gives me the feeling you don't like me much anymore, Stanford."

"You're getting warm," Stan said. "And considering what happened last time, I wouldn't put it past you."

Rose tutted softly. "If this is you trying to flirt, I have to say your skill has really plummeted over the years. Just so you know, Stanford, I didn't come here for _you_."

"Then what the hell _did_ you come here for?"

"You really want to know?" Rose said. She stood up, and, wine bottle still in hand, strode over to a locked box on what looked to be a dressing table. There was a click as the box unlocked, although Stan hadn't seen her use a key and thus assumed it was locked magically. Rose reached in and whipped around to reveal what she had pulled out of it: a journal. "Recognize this, Stanford?" she asked. She seemed to take Stan's open-mouthed stare as an affirmation, because she chuckled smugly. "Didn't think you'd be quick to forget, considering that, as I recall, you've got one of your very own."

She placed the journal back in the box and sat down again across Stan, taking another sip of wine. "So, now that I know you're here, I've got a proposition. I figure you've got your copy still well in hand. So what say we start up the old business together, hm? Just the two of us. We've got all but one book; two out of three isn't half bad. Not ideal, but it's enough, isn't it? Even to try again?"

Stan let out a sound that sounded like some bizarre cross between a snarl and a laugh. "You're nuts, aren't you? Still. You honestly think, after everything, you stand a chance? A second chance?" He got up and began marching toward the door. "I don't know what you hope to gain here, but stay away from me, stay away from my family, and stay out of my life. Got it?"

Rose sighed as Stan grabbed the handle of the door. "Such a pity," she said lightly. "You know, Gideon wasn't particularly eager to part with his journal, either."

Stan froze, hand at the door. Rose, meanwhile, sipped casually at her wine, as if she had merely just commented on the weather. "Is that a threat?" Stan finally managed to ask, his voice ice cold.

He was answered with a syrupy smile. "Aw, Stan," Rose said. "That's what I always liked about you. About us. You know me so well."

* * *

A/N: Fun fact: in my household, not only is ZERBIT a viable Scrabble word, it's worth double points. For no reason at all. So, anyway, be sure to favorite, follow, review, and zerbit your zerbit zerbitly.


	7. Chapter 7

"Steady, Dipper," Mabel said softly. "Just focus..."

"Mabel," her brother grunted. "It would be much easier to focus without you whispering in my ear like that."

"Oh. Sorry."

Mabel pulled away and let her brother get back to the game, the carnie who ran the booth watching through glazed eyes. It was a cool game, really. On top of a stand was set up what looked like some bizarre modern sculpture made of a single thick silver wire twisting this way and that. The goal was for the player to guide a metal ring through the whole wire without actually touching, like some 3-D version of Operation. And like Operation, it wasn't as easy as it looked. Mabel had lost mere seconds after tossing her ticket to the booth attendant, and now, Dipper was having a go.

The twins stood in absolute silence as Dipper guided the metal ring through the winding maze of wire, a line of sweat glistening beneath the bangs pressed into his forehead. He stuck out his tongue in concentration as he reached the last turn, when suddenly-

"Sup, dudes?"

Dipper let out a yelp and jumped a mile into the air. A buzzer sounded as the metal ring rammed into the wire. The booth attendant turned to Dipper, expression unchanged, and said in a drawling voice, "Sorry. No prize."

"Yeah, I guessed that," Dipper sighed. He turned to face the source of the voice that had interrupted him. "Really, Soos? You couldn't have waited until I was done with the game?"

"Dipper was going to win me the elephant!" Mabel whined, pointing to the stuff of overstuffed animals being offered as prizes.

Soos bit his lip uncomfortably. "Sorry, dude. Wasn't thinking. Just, I been looking all over the festival for you two."

"Why?" Dipper asked. "Stan need us home for something?"

"Nope." Soos shook his head. "I passed by the Tent of Telepathy on the way here. You said you wanted to know once the police cleared outta there."

Dipper perked up instantly. "So the Tent's cleared up?"

"Spotless, dude," Soos answered with a nod.

"Thanks," Dipper said. He pulled a length of orange paper out of his pocket. "You want the rest of my tickets, Soos? I think I'm heading out for the day."

"Me too," Mabel added eagerly. "You can have my-" She turned out her skirt pockets only to find that they were empty, save for a melted piece of chocolate in one. "Oh. Well, it's the thought that counts." She took her brother's hand and turned him toward the festival's exit. "See ya, Soos!" she called.

"By, dudes!" Soos replied. "Thanks for the tickets!"

Mabel and Dipper wove their way through the town square before they set off on an adjacent road that led to the Tent of Telepathy. "Okay," Dipper said. "We don't know for sure what is was that killed Gideon, so when we get their we need to keep our eyes out for just about anything." He pulled his book from his vest and idly flicked through the pages. "Ectoplasm, moving shadows, temperature shifts, sulfuric smells. Basically anything that the forensics guys would brush off or overlook."

"Anything at all?" Mabel asked increduously. "You seriously couldn't have even narrowed it down a little bit by this point?"

Dipper shook his head. "No. If we had gotten a little more detail besides 'he died', I'd probably have some idea. Like, say, if he was burned, then it might be a Hitodama, which is this ghost thing that takes the form of a fireball."

"Or a dragon," Mabel said.

Dipper rolled his eyes. "I kinda think a dragon would do a little more damage then just that, Mabel. Or, here." He turned the pages of the journal. "If it was bloodier, coulda been this thing. A Raven Mocker. An invisible monster that slashes the head to kill the person, then eats its heart."

"Ew!" Mabel made a face. "That's disgusting! There's not seriously one of those things in Gravity Falls, is there?"

"There could be," Dipper said. "It's in the journal."

Mabel shivered. "Thanks for the nightmares, Dipping Sauce. But come on, if it had been something like that, the news people would have-" She stop short and squinted ahead. "Uh, Dipper? I don't think we'll be able to do the investigation after all."

"What?" Dipper snapped. Mabel pointed ahead, and Dipper followed her and groaned as he realized what she meant. Apparently, when Soos said that the lot was spotless, he had meant it. The police and yellow tape were gone, but so was the tent.

"Great!" Dipper said. "Just great!"

Mabel frowned thoughtfully. "I forgot that tents aren't all that permanent."

"Yeah," Dipper muttered. "Now how are we going to find anything out about this whole thing?"

"Guess the best we can do is see if the police will let us know anything."

Dipper snorted. "Sure, Mabel. What are we going to do? Waltz right into the police station and demand Blubs and Durland to hand over the case files to a couple of twelve-year-olds?"

* * *

"Edwin, get in here!" Sheriff Blubs shouted through the door to the back room of the police station. "You gotta hear this!"

Deputy Durland poked his head into the front room, where Blubs sat behind a desk across from Dipper and Mabel. "What is it?" he asked.

Blubs turned back to the twins with an enormous grin on his face, a nice contrast to Dipper's red-faced scowl. "Hey, junior!" he said. "Tell the deputy here what you just told me! No, you know what, I'll tell him. These two just waltzed right into the police station and demanded that we handed over our case files to a couple of twelve-year-olds!" He burst into a peal of laughter.

"I didn't word it quite like that," Dipper growled.

Durland was laughing too, now. "Look at that, Blubs! City boy's growing up! Moving on from statues to actual people!" The two officers let out another round of howling laughs, and Dipper's grip tightened on the arms of his chair.

"Don't make fun of him like that!" Mabel said. "He solved a case that you two couldn't, didn't he?"

"I just think there's probably something in those reports that you missed, but I won't," Dipper added.

The sheriff settled back into his seat, still chuckling. "Look, kid, you're enthusiasm is cute and all, but you know what that thing with the wax head was? A fluke. You got lucky and think you're some full-blown detective because of it. But that doesn't qualify you to get to go snoopin' through police files, you know?"

"I only-"

"No, no, listen. You ain't... you ain't... Durland!" He turned to his partner. "What was the name of that one kid detective? The one with all those little mystery books?"

"The Hardy Boys?" Durland suggested.

"Nah, the other one, the one who worked solo. Dad's a cop, solves all the mysteries over family dinner?"

"Encyclopedia Brown."

Blubs snapped his fingers. "That's the one." He swiveled back to face Dipper. "You ain't Encyclopedia Brown, kiddo, and this ain't a fifteen-cent detective book. So from now on, just leave the police business to the police, okay?" He didn't wait for a response before getting out of his chair and reaching for his jacket on the coat rack. "I'm going on a donut run, Edwin. Want anything?"

"Well, yeah," Durland said. "But you never get the donuts I like."

"The cinnamon swirl things, right?"

"Yeah, but a certain _kind_ of the cinnamon swirls. See, it's gotta be-"

Blubs sighed. "Whatever. Just come along if you're going to be picky." Durland shot him a thumbs-up and grabbed his own coat, then followed the Sheriff out. Dipper and Mabel both remained seated, staring at the entrance as the door banged shut behind the officers. After a few seconds of silence, Mabel turned her head slowly toward her brother. "Did they seriously just leave us unsupervised in the police station?"

Dipper smiled. "Mabel, it seems that the good town of Gravity Falls has been blessed with the dumbest police force in the world. Come on."

They got out of their chairs and made their way into the back room. Unlike most police stations that had progressed to computers years ago, this one kept a trove of filing cabinets stacked tightly together. Most likely, the cops had never learned to use a keyboard. Dipper strode up to the cabinet labeled 'G-I' and, upon finding it locked, Mabel pulled a bobby pin from her hair and had the drawer open within seconds. Dipper quickly began flipping through the folder tabs. "What the heck?" he muttered. "It skips straight from 'Gilbert' to 'Glenn'. No file for Gleeful."

"Maybe it's misfiled," Mabel suggested. "We could check the other cabinets."

A search of the cabinet labeled 'A-C' yielded nothing, as did 'D-F'. Finally, Dipper let out an annoyed groan as he sifted through 'J-L'. "Found it," he said. "Filed under L for 'Li'l'."

Mabel giggled. "Creative. The report's in there?"

"Yep," Dipper said. He pulled out the top piece of paper containing the main report in Sheriff Blubs' looping handwriting, leaving the forensics report and inventory sheet, and set the page onto the only decent surface in the room, an old card table, so he and Mabel could both read it.

_Gravity Falls Police Department Official Report; District 7, Report No. 31-400A._

_Title of Offense/Incident: Possible breaking and entering; Class 8 Felony. Assault/battery; victim claimed to have been knocked unconscious by intruder; Class 6 Felony. Possibility of homicide (degree: undetermined); Class 1 Felony. Larceny; Class 1 Misdemeanor._

_Location of Incident: 413 Wombat Road. 24 June 2012. Reported: 10:18 PM. Occured: approx. 10:00 PM. Target: Amusement facility. Point of entry: main entrance to tent; east backstage entrance. Point of exit: undetermined._

_Complainant/Firm: Bud Gleeful, 49, C/W, M. Report Filed By: Sher. H. Blubs, Dep. Sher. E. Durland._

_Victim: Bud Gleeful. Taken to: Northwest Memorial Hospital. Injuries: Victim had received blow to the occipital skull, causing unconsciousness for approx. 15 mins. Diagnosis of abrasion and mild concussion._

_Victim: Gideon Gleeful. Taken to: Northwest Memorial Hospital. Injuries: Autopsy reveals death caused by asphyxiation. No external injuries or signs of physical damage within the lungs or trachea. Unconclusive diagnosis._

_Narrative: See attached witness report. (Bud Gleeful)_

_Stolen Vehicle: N/A_

_Stolen Property: B Gleeful reports G Gleeful habitually keeps his journal in his dressing room during performances. Said journal was not found during investigation; presumed larceny. Monetary value: undetermined._

Dipper ignored the rest of the report, listing the address and phone numbers of the station and jabbed his finger toward the section labeled 'Stolen Property'. "Mabel?" he said slowly. "Does anything here strike you as odd?"

His sister reread the paragraph. "Yeah," she said. "Gideon never really seemed the type to keep a diary."

"Who said he was writing it himself?" Dipper gulped and pulled out his journal, the hand with the number 3 gleaming briefly under the dim ceiling light, and set it on top of the report. "You dont... you don't think..."

Mabel stared at the journal, mouth slightly opened. "No! No, I mean... although, that '3' does kinda suggest that there's more than one, huh? You think Gideon had one?"

"It would explain why he knows so much about all the supernatural stuff in this town. But where did he get it? How did I not realize it? Where did-?"

"More importantly," Mabel interrupted, "Who knew about it, and cared enough to kill Gideon in order to take it?"

Dipper froze and gazed at Mabel. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, it's the only thing listed as being missing. I mean, if it's even another journal like yours."

"Yeah," Dipper said. "If. That's a big 'if', though. We don't know for sure that it wasn't just Gideon's personal log."

"Sure," Mabel said, nodding hastily. "That could be it, too." They stood in silence for a moment, eyes drawn to the battered book lying innocently on the card table. Then Dipper cleared his throat. "Well, we saw the report. Guess now we just have to go home and mull it over, right? Come on." He tucked his book back into his vest as Mabel put the report and folder back into the filing cabinet, and they both walked silently out of the police station and toward home.

* * *

A/N: Who would have guessed that I would actually have less free time during winter break than I did during the school year? Although, I guess that's mostly due to getting Pokemon X for Christmas. Anyway, here's a new chapter! And if your New Year's resolution was to leave more reviews, here's a great place to do it!


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